News of the Gathering

Morris's speculation pointed toward a dark future in which all things fell silent forever—a chill far greater than any horrifying prophecy of destruction, far greater than the apocalyptic calamities muttered by madmen.

It would be a dark, cold extinction. The last flames would gradually fade amid civilization's ashes, and civilization's dying glow would suffocate bit by bit through repeated fatal contractions. Like a slowly sinking ship, desperate people would keep throwing their burdens overboard in hopes of delaying their doom, yet in the end, every plank on that ship would inevitably fall into the boundless dark abyss of the sea.

What was even harder to accept was that, judging by the intelligence already available, this future was highly likely—indeed, it might already be the best of all possibilities.

After all, "civilization" would at least have a chance to linger on after the Fourth Long Night and Fifth Long Night. It could at least enjoy the last scraps of false peace within those ever-shrinking, constantly collapsing shelters.

Under worse circumstances, there might not even be so many Long Nights to follow—the Third Long Night had already been an irreproducible "miracle" and "stroke of luck." The coming dusk might be the day all things truly ended.

...Perhaps that would actually be a good outcome?

Tumultuous thoughts rose and fell in his mind. At last, Duncan shook his head and temporarily cast aside the mess of thoughts. "We're getting pessimistic, Morris."

"Indeed. Making these speculations before we can determine when or in what form the Fourth Long Night will arrive... is a little premature," Morris said, rubbing his brow as he finally pulled himself free from that somewhat pessimistic mood. "My mentor is organizing a 'gathering' spanning the Four Churches. You will be invited to it. By then, we should be able to